


The Weight of Waiting

by lunarorbits



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Astronaut AU, M/M, space, this is definitely how space works
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-11 21:27:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9030152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunarorbits/pseuds/lunarorbits
Summary: Challenge: write something coherent out of a meme.Prompt: if there were two guys on the moon and one killed the other with a rock would that be fucked up or what?PSA this is not crack it is hardcore space fluff.





	

**Author's Note:**

> written for a friend lmao have fun  
> hmu on twitter @asstrogay if you have a silly prompt for me or want to tell me how dumb this was k thanks

It's not a simple thing to describe the feeling of weightlessness.

It's like the time he was too drunk to hop the fence at that college party, the police hot on their tails, and Phichit had, in an inebriated panic, chucked him over. He didn't know how _Phichit_ , sweet, smiley little Phichit had mustered the strength to fling him over a damn fence, but God, on that night, he flew.

It's like the time he had one too many Jell-O shots and bobbed in the public pool for what _felt_ like only a few minutes— later, he had the revelation that it was three hours. But pruned skin and chlorine-crusted hair couldn't detract from the divine sensation of being up and above the ground with so little effort, just existing, just floating. Both his body and mind were free to drift where they pleased until a motherly Christophe scooped him from the water's surface, wrapping him in a warm towel to the sounds of soft reprimands.

Yuuri sighs. Why do all his analogies involve him and alcohol? How the hell did he graduate in the first place?

He taps a large white boot against the mutable moon-earth, kicking up fine grey dust with each prudent step. The vacuum engulfs the sound, a philosophical beat only audible in his bones. Behind the glass of his domed visor, he rolls a chapped lip between his teeth.

Oh.

Weightlessness is kind of like when he met Victor.

Every time he was ready to give up, every time he looked up at the unfathomable sky with its flat, inky endlessness and thought _you're too big for me,_ a brilliant astronomer with eyes like a cloudless dream and hair like the stars themselves would unlock another mystery about that great, unfathomable beyond. The scientific world was thrilled by Victor. Yuuri was thrilled by Victor. And so he kept going.

He found work in America. In the end, they all did, speaking in jaunts of English peppered with colorful native phrases. He was no one special, just a lab rat who happened to stumble upon an equation one day, who happened to plug in the right numbers, and that equation just so happened to be Victor's latest work. Needless to say, they were introduced.

And needless to say, they never said goodbye.

Yet, he was so starstruck by the effervescence and genius of _Victor_ that it took him a solid six months to realize exactly how much mutual adoration there was between them. Victor asked him out in the universal language of numbers— with a non-stop onslaught of math pickup lines.

To this day, he's ashamed to have been won over by "I wish I was your derivative so I could lie tangent to your curves," and "your beauty cannot be spanned by a finite basis of vectors." Not that it took much to win him over in the first place. After all, his love for Victor is exponential... It keeps growing.

Now he loves Victor enough to go to the moon and back, but.

 _But_. If he's being completely honest, Yuuri misses little things, like the patter of rain on their balcony as they sipped hot tea. Like his bed; modest, yet big enough to harbor the two of them, so he could nuzzle into Victor's chest while he slept.

He's reminded of a particular string of Victor's words, whispered in a cocoon of blankets during a lukewarm Florida winter. There was breath, ethereal and comfortable, on the back of his neck, and fingers carding through his hair in a familiar pattern.

"You know I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

A hum of approval. "Yes. And I want to spend the rest of mine with you." He had turned to face his lover, not-so-subtlety scratching his nose with his ring finger, and was met with a tepid, apologetic smile.

"But, the rest of our lives can't start until we make it up there."

Victor's gaze had been directed at the ceiling, but Yuuri knew his lover was looking beyond.

So it was a selfish kind of hope he felt when the offer was extended to them— an offer to go to the moon. Now he looks up and sees the Earth, a semi-circular oasis of blues and greens in the black void, more alone than the moon could ever be. From here, politics, taxes, storms of the land and sea and heart all seem insignificant, and for that, Yuuri breathes a long sigh of relief.

He follows the horizon and feels the same awe in the expanse of sloping grey that one feels of a windless Arabian night. Unchanging and tranquil, cold and bleak, present yet so _unreal_. It's overwhelming and underwhelming all at once. It's empty yet full of unanswered questions. It's heaven and it's purgatory.

A radioed voice crackles in the bubble of his helmet.

"I see a lot of standing and gawking and not a whole lot of sample-taking going on over there," says Victor, a playful lilt in his tone. _Like he actually has room to talk_.

"So you were watching me then," Yuuri shoots back, resting a cumbersome glove on his puffed spacesuit hip. "Tell me, does this make my ass look fat?"

Victor laughs bright and long, the sound filling his ears and warming him to the core. Yuuri watches from a few meters away as he shakes his helmet 'no.' "Eh, it's not as bad as that one time you stress-ate pizza bites for a month."

Yuuri visibly deflates, pouting. "Don't forget, you enabled that." He knows Mission Control can hear their lover's quarrel and his visor fogs up at the thought. By the time the suit can adjust for the internal rise in temperature, clearing away the veil of breath, Victor is already bounding towards him in long, graceful strides. With the press of a button his reflective visor retracts and Victor’s face comes into view. He's smiling. Despite the years, Yuuri’s heart flutters ardently.

Victor crashes into him, grabbing him at the elbows and launching them away with a small hop. The momentum sends them gliding over the surface, spinning in lazy circles. He should be more angry at Viktor's recklessness, but white-lashed adoring eyes and a saccharine grin rob him of the rebuke building in his throat.

God they're on the moon _,_  and Yuuri _still_ can't look away from him. Time yawns wide and sucks them in and maybe it's the lack of atmosphere, or the all-consuming dark, or the surreal, brittle huff of Victor's joy over the radio, but to Yuuri, everything stands still. He wants to kiss Victor, _badly_ , drawn by touchable cheekbones and the sheen of sweat on milk skin. He seems younger, childlike with his hair hidden in the fabric of his suit. The earth swings past his vision once, twice, three times in the span of a short eternity and Victor touches their helmets together, closing his eyes.

He looks like a fable, sounds like his favorite song, feels like comfort and home and Yuuri startles when their feet finally touch ground. Victor skids to a stop, releasing a tidal wave of silver powder. It falls like snow around them.

Yuuri's lips can't decide whether to smile or frown, so they settle on a soft line of neutrality. "What was that for?"

"I know you. You were thinking yourself in circles, so I thought I'd remind you that we're on the _moon._ " Although Yuuri can't feel Victor resting his hands on his hips, the gesture is appreciated. "You're too cute to look that serious."

"And you're too silly to be an astronaut."

"Are you kidding?" He waves away the accusation with an insouciant gesture. "Astronauts do dumb stuff on the moon all the time. It's part of the job."

"Then you should get a raise." The jab is softened by fondness.

Victor grows quiet in voice and demeanor. His eyes, searching and singing don't leave Yuuri's— when they do, they follow his gloved fingers to a large pocket. "What I _should_ get is a slap on the wrist for making you wait so long," he says gently, palming something in his hand.

Oh.

Yuuri's heart clenches, so tight he clasps at the fabric covering his chest. Of course, it doesn't actually help. "Victor—"

"Hold out your hand, Yuuri."

And he does, trembling visibly even beneath the thick layers of insulation. Then Victor's glove is in his, holding him, squeezing once before letting go. He leaves behind something precious, something metallic and new and so _so_ small in his giant space hand.

Carefully, Yuuri plucks it between his fingers, marveling. His eyes strain to see detail through tears. Lining the inside of this ring are engravings of the phases of the moon, charcoal black against a brilliant gold sky. And on the outside, an empty hole. "Oh," Yuuri croaks, glad he's found something to say, yet mildly heartbroken for Victor, "there's no stone. It must've fallen out of the setting. I'm sorry, it's. It's still beautiful."

"Oh, no, that's what this is for." Yuuri, enraptured by the ring, never noticed Victor digging into another pocket, and he now holds out a small, grey rock. There's nothing marvelous about it— it's texture, grain and color are all perfectly mundane— until Victor lets it roll in his palm. It reveals specks of glittering silver and Yuuri can see himself years in the future, gazing down at the stone and remembering the moon and the earth and Victor, just as they were. Just as they are, now.

"Where'd you get that?" Yuuri whispers.

"Here. Where else?" Victor smiles with his teeth and his eyes and Yuuri wonders when the veritable volcano of molten emotion in his chest will erupt. "Yuuri," he says the name breathlessly, with wonder, "the rest of our lives starts now. Please, marry me."

He swears his heart stops beating. Yuuri can't explain why after years of companionship, hearing those words still means so much. There are hot tears on his cheeks and he wants to rub his eyes; he's well aware that he's not a pretty crier, not like Victor. When he tries, however, and his balled up gloves are stopped by a thick pane of glass, and Victor laughs the happiest laugh Yuuri has ever,  _ever_ heard, he begins to sob. Of course, he could retreat behind his reflective visor, but he lets Victor see. Let's him see the wavering, dreamlike smile that mouths "Yes."

Victor holds their hands together, like in prayer. And Yuuri feels absolutely _w_ _eightless._

 

**Author's Note:**

> Bonus Scene:  
> "Victor, why didn't you just propose on the ship so that you could actually put the ring on my finger and so that I could, you know, kiss you?"
> 
> "... I don't know. Aesthetic?"  
>   
> //Mission Control clapping wildly, sobbing through the microphone “MISSION ACCOMPLISHED”


End file.
